


Faulty Wiring

by ToulouseD



Category: Bleach
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Friends With Benefits, Ishida pines, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 01:34:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6684043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToulouseD/pseuds/ToulouseD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ishida will recognize the absolute stupidity of having sex with an idiot, he's not going to change that. In love moronic things are done and having casual sex with your crush is one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faulty Wiring

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written in 2010 I think, back then it was in first person and on FF.net, now it's not and it here. Thank you for reading.

Ishida’s face is cold from the metal-grating he’s currently pushed up against. It's going to leave a bruise, he thinks. But even though his cheek is starting to resemble a Quincy cross and the constant push from behind is pressing him further into the vent, it’s not like he’s going to stop it.

Kurosaki's strangled breath is coming short from behind him. He’s close now. Ishida came approximately 30 seconds ago and is now feeling the aftermath of that, along with bend in his back, the cold ventilation in his eyes, further cooled by the sweat on his brow, and the slow aching in his hips.

They’re fuckbuddies. There's nothing more to it. No sweet nothings in the dead of night, no soothing caresses in the moonlight or promises that none of them intend to keep. And Ishida, being the realistic one, knows that it won’t become this.

Because their reasons to engage in this arrangement differs. While Kurosaki is in it for the sake of – well sex, Ishida would assume – he’s in it because of something far more severe.

//

Ishida became aware of his feelings towards Kurosaki when he sat cross-legged on the boulder in Urahara-san's basement before they went to Hueco Mundo to save Inoue. The moment Kurosaki appeared, his senses went blank, his mind experienced a circuit-break, and for some strange reason his heart clenched. There were short, stingy shock-waves through his body and he knew. Because he realized it was an unrequited and therefore a fruitless sort of attachment.

Ishida doesn’t know if it’s been months, if it’s been seconds, he’s not good with feelings, especially his own. In reality, he has no idea how long, and he’s not sure if that makes it any better.

He’s never seen himself as a masochist, but he couldn't help but feel elated, after the initial shock, when Kurosaki stabbed him through the abdomen. Not because he was happy to die, that he became hard because of the pain, not anything remotely close to that. But he figured that after Kurosaki came to his senses, he would look at him. Finally look at him. He was hoping that Kurosaki stabbing him would result in something deeper or more profound than what had passed between them at that point in time. 

He was wrong. Somehow that stung even worse than Tensa Zangetsu through the gut.

They continued to have nothing but barbs and professional respect for each other. And of course Kurosaki’s compulsory need to constantly save Ishida’s ass because he regarded their relationship as friendship. Quite frankly, it annoyed Ishida when Kurosaki told him to protect Inoue from his reiatsu with his own body if necessary. Afterwards, after Kurosaki disappeared through the hole in the sky, after that he felt a weight upon his chest, because all they continued to have for each other was cordial greetings and shouts of frustration.

But what always puzzled Ishida exceedingly was that neither Kurosaki or Inoue ever got the tension. Kurosaki is dense, but Inoue-san's attraction is so easy that it's more of a public secret at this point. Sometimes Ishida wishes they would get their collective shit together and just start dating, if anything so he could crawl out from this circle of Hell he seems to have allocated himself to.

When they returned to Karakura, Kurosaki wasn't Kurosaki anymore. Something had changed in him.

However, Asano didn't really bother with this and after Kurosaki came to his senses, threw him a party. A party everyone involved in the Winter War was forced to participate in. Ishida didn't understand how Asano thought that this was the way to help Kurosaki with the loss of his powers, his parting with Kuchiki or coming to terms with the monster he had had to rely on to defeat Aizen and his various minions. But then again, Ishida doesn’t understand feelings and maybe Asano, for his lack of intelligence in many other fields, has one up on Ishida in this one.

To his surprise, Asano's method was quite effective. Just another sentiment to how poorly he knows Kurosaki. He didn't want to be there but Sado’s almost pleading look made him stay. For some reason, he figured that Ishida needed this too. 

He’s never had so much alcohol in his entire life. Correction, he’s never had any alcohol prior to this. And Ishida doesn't think he handled it well. He remembers nothing past 10 pm and considering the party started at 7, it seems like a rather weak performance.

He woke the next morning, head heavy and sluggish, throat dry, vision spinning, thoroughly loathing his own existence. The entirety of it sucked fucking Quincy-cock. Ishida’s not usually prone to profanities outside insulting Kurosaki or opponents of lower mental standing, but this was some Dante’s Infernal shit.

He felt something stir beside him and groggily looked over his shoulder. He nearly had a heart attack and an acute case of projectile vomiting when he saw the unruly orange hair on the pillow next to me. Ishida turned away and through sheer force of will forced himself to stay still. His knuckles practically turned white and his jaw soon felt as sore as his bottom.

He gingerly removed the blanket only to confirm he was naked.

An objective assessment would conclude that he lost every kind of virginity he had last night to none other than Kurosaki Ichigo. It was a bittersweet feeling, was what it was.

“Shit,” he breathed and closed his eyes.

Kurosaki stirred again and Ishida immediately relaxed his features. He might not applaud their circumstances, but Kurosaki couldn’t be thrilled either. Ishida expected him to kick him out of bed and screamingly demand an answer as to why Ishida was in the same bed as him and why they were naked as well.

Kurosaki sat up, scratched his head and slowly peered over his shoulder, like Ishida had. At least that's what he imagined him doing, his eyes were closed but Kurosaki didn't shift. 

Until the mattress dipped down just behind his back and he could practically feel Kurosaki’s body hovering over his. He stayed there for a long time, as if he was examining his existence, making sure his chest was indeed flat, his hips indeed slender and his wrist indeed chained in silver.

Then Kurosaki gasped, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

The mantra was repeated many times. Ishida figured that he’d realized who he’d bedded. That he was not just a flat-chested girl resembling Kuchiki with black hair and petite build. Not that Ishida’s frail. He’s slender, skinny some might say, but his weight and height are average, so being a little bony is not a big deal; even if Inoue doesn't believe a word of that.

Ishida guesses that from a very drunken perspective his lanky, pale and dark-haired appearance could be mistaken for Kuchiki's petite, slender and also dark-haired persona. But you'd have to be drunk. Really drunk. But then again, one would have to be quite intoxicated to sleep with someone like Kurosaki in the first place.

Then he left. 

The moment Ishida heard the door slam shut, he gathered his clothes, found his wallet and put on his shoes. Kurosaki had left a few thousand yen. Somehow, that made him feel used. 

The hotel wasn't expensive, few love-hotels in Karakura were, so he paid with Kurosaki's money. They gave him knowing looks on his way out. Using Kurosaki's money made him feel less like a whore.

The walk home was uncomfortable. His hips were sore, his head hurt and his mouth tasted like death and despair. Ishida stayed home the entire weekend.

When Monday came, he was nervous and hesitant. Whether or not this would cause a shift in their relationship, or if it would stay static, he didn’t know – Ishida hated not knowing. His plan was to act as if nothing had happened. He didn't know how many people had seen them, how many had figured out what had happened or if anybody had even noticed anything. 

To his immense relief, no one seemed to. 

“Ishida-kun, did you get home safe?” Inoue asked with a gentle smile. She looked at him with those huge, gray eyes. Ishida simply nodded and smiled a little. He still didn't feel it was safe enough to open his mouth, somehow he still couldn't get the taste of misery out, no matter how much he brushed his teeth.

Kurosaki didn't greet him, though that wasn’t entirely abnormal. He scowled even more than before and who could really blame him. He’d lost so much during the past week and had awoken with another boy in a love-hotel bed the following morning. Ishida doesn't think anybody who knew, blamed him.

One might wonder how they got to the vent at this point, but it’s relatively simple.

It was a Thursday afternoon, it was hot and dry, the electrical wires were humming loudly, so while doing his homework, Ishida put on headphones and turned up the volume. His apartment’s great, but during the summer, when the heatwaves come and go regularly, it’s hell. Opening a window means letting the constantly humming wires pierce his otherwise quiet apartment.

His balcony’s no wider than two feet, it‘s lovely gesture, but it’s useless. No man in their right mind would sit out there without any kind of protection against the Goddamn wires. They did provide a great seating space for the different pigeons and sparrows that inhabited Karakura though. 

However, the living room quickly proved unbearable to remain in, so he moved out on said balcony. There was room for a single chair, which he’s squeezed out there first day after moving in. He’d spent the rest of the evening out there, getting used to the wires. 

He sat down, pushed the volume up so as to damage his hearing most efficiently and began reading tomorrow's math and history.

It wasn't until someone kicked the chair, he realized that he wasn't alone.

“Hey!”

Ishida turned and saw Kurosaki loom over him.

“What?” he retorted as if his presence truly meant nothing. He sounded more tired than irritated, but at this point there was very little to lose.

He crossed his arms and stood for a long time with a distant look as if pondering what he wanted to say. Ishida closed his book and let it dump down on the balcony-floor.

“How did you get my address?” he inquired, since Kurosaki wasn’t forthcoming with any conversation.

“I asked Inoue. I came over and saw you up here, so I tried shouting at you, but you didn't hear me. Then a woman in your building buzzed me in. And, well, you didn't have your door locked –“

“That's home-invasion!” Ishida rolled his eyes and got up.

“It's not like you heard me knock!”

Ishida walked into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Would you stand still? I'm trying to talk to you.”

He turned and took a long sip of the cold water. “What do you want, Kurosaki?”

“I want to talk to you.”

He scratched the back of his head and sighed in a defeatist manner. “This is a whole lot harder when you're being a smart-ass,” he tried defending himself.

“I'm being a little critical seeing as you broke into my home.”

“Ishida, would you please shut the fuck up?” Kurosaki demanded. Ishida was a little taken aback. This was usually how he communicated, without that he really didn't know how to talk to him. It was awkward since none of them seemed to know how to proceed from there. Double on Ishida, seeing as he wanted to comb his fingers through Kurosaki’s hair, kiss him senseless and let him bang him next to his kitchen appliances.

“We had sex,” Kurosaki suddenly announced as Ishida was taking another sip of my water. He nearly choked. He seemed to interpret that as surprise. Surprise at the revelation. Not at the fact that he would put it so bluntly, not to mention bring it up in the first place.

“Excuse me?” Ishida said cooly. He may be surprised but the drop was not Kurosaki’s to be had.

“Last Friday we had sex. I just thought you should know that it was me, and not, y'know, someone . . . someone . . .”

He was so eloquent at times, no wonder Ishida fell for him.

“Yes, Kurosaki?”

“Someone weird.”

“Someone weird? What we did wasn’t weird? Or do you fuck around with all your friends?” Ishida couldn't do anything but snipe at him. Telling him he knew would make this already awkward conversation flat-out embarrassing. 

“Shut the fuck up, Ishida. No, I just didn't want you going around and wrecking your brain or anything. I wanted to save you some time, I mean, you're smart, you would've figured it out somehow. I just wanted to tell you.”

That was one of the nicest things he’d ever said to me.

“That is precisely what I’ve been doing,” he lightly mocked him, rolling my eyes. He was going to sprain them if the conversation continued this way.

“Are you making fun of me? This is not exactly easy, Ishida!” he raised his voice. 

“Woe is you. You think it was easy for me?”

“I wouldn't know, you haven't exactly told me anything!”

“What would I’ve told you? I left a love-hotel the morning after the Triumph?”

“Shut up, Ishida, you knew it was me!” he shook his head and huffed.

“Then why did you come here to tell me?”

His face faltered, “You knew?”

Ishida kept his face blank and unreadable, one of the few things inherited from his father he appreciated, “You scrambled around that bed like there was no tomorrow. I woke up, fell asleep, woke up, you were gone. Why is this such a big deal?”

He took another drink. His voice was trembling slightly and his throat was uncomfortably dry. Kurosaki stared at him for a good ten seconds. “It's a big deal because we're friends, Ishida.”

Ishida shrugged, “It was pleasurable.”

Why he treated this so casually he didn’t know. This was not how he was. This was a fucking big deal! Kurosaki looked at him like he was the bastard he’d been trying to convince him he wasn’t. Ishida wanted to scream. Maybe ram his head into the one of the cabinets. Maybe cry. Crying sounded nice.

“It was pleasurable?” Kurosaki repeated slowly and walked closer. Ishida nodded nonchalant and drank again. 

And somehow, they’d ended up in bed, as if to repeat the success.

Despite the warmth outside, it didn't feel as stuffy or burning in the bed. And it wasn't pleasurable. 

It hurt and Ishida had no idea why anybody would volunteer to participate in this kind of activity, let alone why he’d allowed this in the first place. Kurosaki's dick split open his lower body. His hands slid up and down Ishida’s back, while he drove his face down in the mattress. Then he hit a bundle of nerves and he couldn't help but gasp.

Ishida tried stifling his voice as well as he could, it would probably spill all his secrets if he let it. Such as the fact that he liked him. He liked him a lot. And therefore, him pushing into his ass, filling him, stretching him, didn't hurt in a bad way. It hurt, it stung like a bitch, but if it meant that Kurosaki would run his hands up and down his body while doing so, Ishida was willing to let him throw him against the wall, push him down onto the bed or drive him up towards a vent. He didn't care. And that's exactly what Kurosaki began doing.

//

This quickly becomes some sort of silent agreement. In the nighttime, when the moon has retired, the mercury streetlamps pulse and the electrical wires sing the song of their people, they fuck. The sex’s hard, rough and absolutely mind-blowing. Mind-blowingly painful at first. After their third time and his hips still shook every time Kurosaki came close, Ishida decided to read up on the subject. He discovered that they’d forgotten a rather important step of the way. Stretching.

After that discovery, it becomes enjoyable. After each go Kurosaki’ll ask if it was pleasurable. And after each time I’ll nod and then he’ll leave, as if he was disappointed with me for answering in the first place.

However, lately Kurosaki hasn't been sated with nighttime rendezvous alone. Therefore the current position, the vent. 

Ishida feels him stiffen behind him and knows that Kurosaki's on the verge of orgasm.

He comes with a low groan and collapses on the space a little bit above Ishida’s head.

Kurosaki breaths heavily for a few minutes, then pushes himself off the wall, removes the condom, zips his pants and walks over to the railing. They're on the school's roof. It's a miracle they haven't been found out yet, really. Ishida pulls up his pants, fastens his belt, and fixes his hair. He’d come in his pants like the horny teenager we was.

“Was it pleasurable for you, Ishida?” he asks as custom dictates he will. Ishida nods, a little distant, while he straightens his tie. Conversation end. They never talk. All they ever do is fight or fuck, sometimes both at the same time. This isn’t really what Ishida pictured himself having a relationship with Kurosaki would be like.

“Ishida, you okay?” Kurosaki asks and looks at him. Ishida shrugs and looks away. He wants to tell him that he’s starting to have second thoughts on this arrangement, that this really is a bad and unhealthy hobby for the two of them to engage in. He doesn’t. Because Kurosaki’s like quicksand.

They've been doing this for about six months now. Today is their half-year anniversary. If it wasn't because Ishida knows how totally ridiculous it sounds, he would've said something, if not to see Kurosaki’s reaction, then to put things into perspective.

Lately, as Kurosaki’s appetite has increased, Ishida’s thoughts on Inoue have spiraled out of control. Not that his affections towards Kurosaki have dimmed or withered, not at all, but his reasoning is faltering. Would he do this with anyone who offered themselves to him? Would he ditch Ishida’s ass if he found out that Inoue liked him? Would he ditch his ass if he found out that Ishida liked him?

“Why do you always look like that?” he demands almost angrily.

“This is how my face looks, unfortunately,” Ishida deadpans. Kurosaki's asked this before as well.

He doesn’t answer, only shakes his head and makes a face.

Ishida turns to the door and walks down to the classroom. He passes Inoue, who stops him.

“Kurosaki-kun . . . is he on the roof?” she asks. Ishida nods, adding a little smile, because Inoue sure as hell doesn’t deserve this shithole that Ishida himself has been stuck in. He’s glad to see some of her spark has returned after Ulqiorra's death. He wonders if anybody would mourn him like that.

She smiles and Ishida hates himself for accepting it so readily. 

“Thank you, Ishida-kun,” she says and walks up the stairs. He remains where he is and ponders if that was the last time he’d ever feel Kurosaki's hands on his body.

//

The grating leaves quite a nasty bruise that he has to cover up the next few days. Kurosaki didn't stop by his apartment last night and he hasn't looked at him all morning. He’s going to take that as a sign. His day is spent in silence, he reads, pays attention in class and ignores anybody who tries to speak to him.

It may not have been the most affectionate or intimate relationship, but the closeness of Kurosaki's body, his hands traveling up and down his ribs and chest, as well as those heavenly moments after sex where they’d sit in companionable silence, was still something Ishida treasured. It may not have been much, but it was something.

The most intense fuck they’d had, was the one in the rain. There’d been a thunderstorm on their way home and instead of turning right when he should, Kurosaki followed Ishida home. They reached the building just in time to avoid the heaviest of the rain. And rain there was. Fat drops littered the streets of Karakura and drenched anybody who was unfortunate enough not to reach shelter in time.

They went upstairs and the minute the door closed, Kurosaki was at his throat. They ended up on the balcony. The cold rain dripped onto his hair and forehead occasionally and through the loud, roaring thunder Kurosaki couldn't hear him panting his name. It's the only time they’d ever faced each other while they fucked. 

He was hoisted up on Kurosaki’s hips and while he thrusted into him with madness and delirium, Ishida latched on the best he could.

Their eyes met fleetingly, but he’d quickly severed the contact. It was more painful than a thousand swords to look into those eyes and find that there was nothing there that resembled his own sentiments. They stayed on the balcony, listened to the humming F-note of the wiring while basking in the final afterglow. 

Ishida had spotted their reflection in the window and couldn't help but find it thoroughly arousing. 

Kurosaki had stared at him for about five minutes before he realized he was being scrutinized. “What?”

“Why do you always look like that?”

“This again?”

He sighed and looked away. Kurosaki had left shortly after. Ishida stayed on the balcony. The concrete was damp after the rain and the air practically smelled like electricity. When he got up it was 8 in the evening and the clouds were drawing together. He got a cold for his trouble.

//

He’s lying on his couch with a book in my hand, trying to comb my way through The Sorrows of Young Werther. He can't seem to fully understand what's happening. Usually German isn't a problem, but his mind keeps circulating back to Kurosaki and Inoue. He doesn't know why, but while lying on his couch reading The Sorrows of Young Werther, he slowly begins to resent her.

Ishida can almost feel jealousy slither through his thoughts, constantly reminding him of all the things that Inoue possesses, which he does not. Curves, for one. A radiant smile, brilliant eyes, a genuinely sweet albeit naïve personality. And he resents her for that. 

He tries to compare his pros to hers. Brains for one. Ishida doesn’t doubt her intelligence, but she's sometimes in her own world. Ishida’s far more serious, solitary, quiet. As he tries to hold their characters up against each other, he finds that they feel as different as night and day. And depending on who you are, you prefer either night or day.

He wonders what Kurosaki prefers.

There were these sort of unspoken rules to their sleeping arrangement. Or sleeping-together arrangement. Ishida insisted on no eye contact. Kurosaki didn't seem to understand why, and he didn't really seem to care. Ishida would feel him staring unabashed at the back of his head, confirmed when he sometimes glances over his shoulder.

That’s another rule. Always with his back turned towards him. That's something Kurosaki demanded, or he’d flip him around every time he tried to turn his body around. He’d tried pushing it to see how serious Kurosaki was about his demands, if he’d made something up just so he wouldn’t be out-ruled by Ishida. It was fine with him, though. It meant they never got to see each other. Ishida only felt Kurosaki, and vice versa.

The third rule’s one he wished never was enforced. They don't kiss. They barely do any kind of foreplay. No handjobs, no blowjobs, no kissing, no hugging, no dirty talking. Just sex. Stretching is the closest thing to it. Kurosaki might mouth the side of his neck or shoulders, Ishida might grind his hips, Kurosaki might force his thigh between his legs, but aside that, there's nothing.

And Ishida wonders. He really does. How would it taste to kiss Kurosaki Ichigo. They say denial makes for greater desire. Ishida will agree. Sometimes it burns his muscles to keep still, sometimes he just wants to fist Kurosaki’s stupid hair and pull him close. 

Sometimes he’d wish they were doing it right.

They fuck. Ishida suspects that with Inoue he would make love. And he resents that.

//

After a week without talking, Ishida resigns. He walks home with slumped shoulders and makes himself a portion of instant noodles. It tastes like cardboard and misery. He walks into the living room to finish The Sorrows. After two hours the deed is done and he closes the book.

Millions of teenagers in Europe committed suicide after reading that piece of shit. The book was banned to prevent swarms of young men in unrequited love from killing themselves off like the title character. Ishida rolls his eyes.

He throws the book onto the coffee table. On which they’d also have had sex. He sighs. It knocks on his door and he gives it a long look before getting up. Ishida knows who it is, the spiritual pressure he recognizes, but he doesn't really understand what Sado wants here.

He walks to the door and open up, “Sado-kun, come in.”

“Thank you.” he says softly. He steps inside and hangs his coat on the clothes tree in the hall.

Ishida walks into the living room and clears the coffee table for books, homework and magazines. Sado sits and lets his hands rest in his lap. 

The clock ticks in the background and waiting for Sado-kun to state his business, Ishida twirls his thumbs. A minute passes by until he stands and asks if Sado would like some coffee. He nods. Ishida nods in return. He’s just a sparkling conversationalist, no wonder he and Kurosaki never talk. 

“Ishida?” Sado calls while he’s in the kitchen. Ishida responds with a non-committal grunt. He’s not sure if it drowns in the sounds the coffee-machine is emitting, but Sado doesn't respond. He walks in with two mugs of coffee and sits cross-legged from him.

“Is something up?” he asks and Ishida raises an eyebrow. He’s not entirely sure what Sado expects him to say. So he shrugs and takes a sip of coffee. It's bitter, but he drinks it anyways. Ishida knows Sado prefers coffee to tea.

“Inoue and Ichigo have been acting weird for a while, you noticed?”

The question was rather, how he couldn’t. One he hates to love and the other he loves to hate. It’s a half-truth at best. There's only one person who he loves to hate and hates to love and it's definitely not Inoue.

“Yes,” Ishida answers carefully and blows the steam away from his cup. Sado-kun nods simply.

“What do you think of it?” he inquires then.

“Inoue-san went to find Kurosaki the other day. On the roof.” 

He can't help feeling like a gossiping wench. Their business wasn't his and he should be happy he never had to confront Kurosaki with the fact that Inoue likes him. Or that Ishida likes him for that matter.

Sado goes silent again and drinks a sip coffee while he does. Ishida stares off into space. He’s been told he does that a lot. Ishida wonders why they aren't running around snugging and hugging, kissing and jizzing. He wants to hit myself. You don't think things like that.

“I don't think Ichigo is gonna go out with her,” Sado suddenly says and puts down his cup again.

Ishida feels a little sprout of hopeful. He quenches that feeling like a spider though.

“Really?” he asks, trying not to sound to eager. Sado knows Kurosaki well. Ishida knows him in a carnal sense where Sado knows him spiritually, almost. 

“I don't think Ichigo likes her that way,” he answers economically and looks at Ishida, like he's expecting some sort of eureka! He wants to thwart him. He hates feeling stupid. The urge quickly dies down and there’s not been a trace on his face. He’s become quite good at hiding his quickfire feelings and immediate responses. Living with Ryuuken does that to people.

“You know, Ishida, you're really easy to read sometimes,” Sado adds a while later and rises to his feet. Ishida wonders if he caught him earlier. 

“Maybe it's not a bad thing, though. Have a good night, Ishida,” he says and walks to the door. Ishida stays seated, feeling cold and young all of a sudden. He doesn't even get to clean up the mugs before someone else is at the door. He looks over his shoulder and makes his way to the door.

“Did you forget something?” he asks, only to find that Kurosaki is standing outside with his hands in his pockets looking sour. He glares. A month ago, Ishida would’ve been happy. Now he’s just tired. He doesn’t understand Kurosaki, he doesn’t understand why he’s a part of this mess and he doesn’t understand why Kurosaki’s scowling at him.

“What was Chad doing here?” he asks. Ishida stares.

“Erm?” not his most intelligent response ever, he’ll admit, but it conveys his bafflement quite nicely.

“Second choice?” he stares angrily at the door-hinges. Ishida’s jaw drops and slowly his brow drew together.

“What gave you that idea?”

“We haven't fucked in a week.”

Kurosaki meets his eyes and there’s almost physical tension between them. Ishida rolls his eyes and retreats back into his apartment. Kurosaki follows as he’s won’t to do. 

“Oh, you offer coffee now? I don't remember getting a refreshment, upping your business?”

Ishida can't move. He stands completely frozen in place. His blood has gone cold and his vision is practically swimming. Like some whore, is all he can think.

“Am I right?” he asks a little surprised, but doesn't realize that his silence isn't consent but pure fury.

“I’m not some thing,” Ishida hisses, barely audible.

“What?” he looks at me with a worried frown.

“You push through my door, call me a whore and expect what exactly, Kurosaki?” he pries with barely contained anger shining through.

“I –“

“You are such an asshole!” Ishida doesn’t bother raising his voice. Kurosaki looks like a deer caught in the headlights. Ishida grabs his jacket and slams the door before he gets a chance to reply.

// 

It's 12am when he goes back home. He’s been wandering around the park, the school. A Hollow appeared around 10.30pm, but it required no bigger effort and it only took one arrow to finish it off.

In the meantime, he fumes. Ishida ends up throwing himself down on a park bench and scowls for an hour. He really has some nerve. But as the night grows colder and his breath becomes visible, he calms himself down. So that was Kurosaki’s opinion of him. 

He wants to cry, but instead he kicks the bench.

His toes still throb as he climbs the stairs. Out of habit, he goes for his keys, but realizes he didn't lock up after his exit. Ishida sighs. He knows he can really be a melodramatic drama queen when he wants to.

He walks inside, flicks on the lights and stops dead in his tracks. Kurosaki’s on his couch, sleeping and snoring ever-so-slightly. His face is mushed into his arm, obscuring the mouth and nose, his legs dangling from the end of the couch and his right arm hanging lifelessly from the side.

Quietly, he takes off his shoes and jacket, closes the front door and walks to the couch. Ishida stands over him for at least five minutes trying to decide whether or not he should kick him out, hit him, kiss him or place a blanket over him.

Kurosaki stirs and suddenly his face is free from his arm. Ishida sits down on the coffee table and watches him. He’s really quite handsome, Ishida sighs. His coppery hair, his quizzical brow, the strong jaw, the toned chest, his fucking nostrils. God, he’s so far gone.

Kurosaki's thrown his jacket on the armrest and his hoodie too. He's wearing a t-shirt with some quirky band or other. But it's not the shirt that holds Ishida’s interest. It's that patch of skin that's showing there. He’s seen Kurosaki without a shirt thousands of times, but somehow this feels more intimate. This time he's not covered in blood, scratches, bandages or torn clothing. He's safe and warm, sleeping on Ishida’s couch.

His abs are annoyingly perfect. His hip bone is not as protruding as Ishida’s own, but just enough so, that combined with muscle and light, you get that line from hip down to his dick. Ishida finds that line insanely sexy. Probably because it's on Kurosaki. He can't help his stare. Ishida would gladly whore himself out to him. Which he technically has already. 

Kurosaki stirs again and blinks sleepily. Ishida’s fight-or-flight response kicks in, but once again he’s frozen in place, so he assumes it's his fight-response that's calling the shots now. Kurosaki looks up at him and sits up warily.

“Hey,” he says gingerly and looks up into his eyes, it’s awkward and shitty and for the first time in a long time, it feels real. Kurosaki swallows, “I'm sorry for calling you a whore. It might've been a little over the top.”

“You think?” is all he can say. Snap, is the more correct term, objectively speaking. Why can he never be cool around Kurosaki? Why does he have to go from zero to asshole in 0.7 seconds?

“I'm sorry, okay? No reason to get all angry again,” he grouches, sits up and crosses his arms over his chest. Ishida stands up and heads towards the kitchen.

“You want some coffee or is that upping my business too much?” Ishida wants to kick himself. Kurosaki Ichigo is in his living room, not to fuck and flee, but for something he’s yet to figure out, and he insists on returning to the matter of whores?

“Coffee would be nice.” he answers hesitantly, as if expecting the offer to be a flying cup of scolding coffee in his face. Ishida doesn't blame him. For the second time that evening, he makes coffee. For Kurosaki. He makes tea for himself. He won’t be forced to drink to cups of bitter bean water the same day.

“I take it you didn't come here to insult me,” Ishida asks as he sets down the cup in front of him.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Kurosaki answers after drinking the first three sips. Ishida’s tea is still drawing taste and he’s patiently waiting for both his tea and Kurosaki's question.

“What are we doing, Ishida? I mean, what were we doing, I'm not really sure if still are.”

“We're fucking,” he says without heat and sighs heavily. “Why do you ask?”

“I wanted to know. Inoue asked me, on the roof, after we. . . y'know, asked if I was seeing someone. I didn't want to say anything until I had cleared it with you,” he says. Ishida puts his tea on the table. Kurosaki’s saucers clinking against his cup.

“The caffeine too much for you?” he asks him, hoping he'll say no. Just something to signal he's as nervous as Ishida. Kurosaki shakes his head and smiles at him. Ishida’s heart melts and slowly drips down his ribs. He instantly looks away. He hates the way he loves that smile.

“You have that look again,” Kurosaki comments quietly and looks into his cup. “The one you have whenever we … fuck.”

Ishida’s spine trembles with the pause and opts to stay silent. Another one of his comments might ruin everything. Kurosaki eyes him for a long time before he looks down again.

“Ishida, why do you always look like you’re about to cry when we’re together? You don't have that expression when you're around … other people.”

Ishida watches him breathlessly. The brown in his eyes reminds him of warm afternoons in the fall, leaves drifting onto his head, the sun setting early and the last glimpse of summer before a winter takes hold of the tired and freezing sky. That last drop of warm sunshine.

He doesn't say anything, hoping he doesn’t look like crying now. He doesn’t feel like crying. He’s not trusting himself to speak, it would surely result in disaster.

“Ishida, what're we doing?” Kurosaki asks with greater confidence now and looks at him, really looks at him. Looks at him like Ishida wanted him to in Hueco Mundo. He swallows and sighs.

“I don't know,” Ishida replies and rubs his face. When it resurfaces, Kurosaki is right in front of him.

“Excuse you?” he tries and leans back. Kurosaki simply follows.

“Ishida, I'm gonna close my eyes and then I'm gonna kiss you,” he announces and he can only stare back.

“What?” Ishida replies stupidly. Scratch previous statement, he doesn’t have brains.

“Ishida, I like you. Like, I like you,” he states and sits back in the other end of the couch and rub his eyes. Ishida stands up and walks over to him. Kurosaki removes his hands and looks a little puzzled that Ishida’s gone. When he sees him standing over him, he grins a little awkwardly.

“Thought you used that hi-ren-ka-ku-thing you use, that flappy-curtain-feet.”

Ishida doesn't reply again. He should've corrected him, he feels. Ishida sits down and locks his hands in his lap. “Really?”

“Really,” Kurosaki answers, seemingly knowing what he wants to know.

“That's good,” he smiles, apparently Kurosaki doesn't believe him, facial expression taken into account. He leans forward and puts a hand on top of Ishida’s.

He opens his mouth but he doesn’t know where to start or what words to use.

“Is there a chance that what you're trying to say is that you like me too?” Kurosaki tries, it’s heartbreakingly unsure and quiet. Ishida nods. Before he even realizes what's happening, he can feel his waist being encircled by Kurosaki's arms and finds himself being pulled into his lap. Ishida knows the most sensible would be to protest a little, but he can't find the energy for it. Instead, he half-crawls, half-climbs onto the couch and onto Kurosaki.

The warmth is so good and insanely comfortable. Ishida’s in his lap and all he can do is let Kurosaki draw him close. He presses his face down in his hair. It smells like Kurosaki, but also the shampoo he uses, a sharp and spicy smell.

“Close your eyes?” Ishida asks and tentatively puts his hands on his shoulders. Kurosaki complies and closes his eyes. Ishida leans forward and kisses him. It’s a mere brush of lips. His entire body is tingling. His heart is beating so fast that he can't believe it doesn't explode from exhaustion, his arms are littered with goose-bumps.

Ishida kisses him again, firmer. This time Kurosaki returns the favor and his blood is rushing through his ears, making his head dizzy and his fingertips buzz. Kurosaki slides his tongue over Ishida’s lower lip and he automatically opens his mouth. He tastes sleepy and bitter like coffee, but underneath that there's an almost cinnamony or cardamom-like tinge, a sweet and absolutely wonderful flavor. 

It’s clumsy, and the only reason it’s good is because Ishida’s wanted it for so long. 

His hands wanders up and through Kurosaki’s hair. It's not as coarse as he imagined, neither is it silky soft. But it feels just like Kurosaki under his palms and while Ishida keeps his head in place, Kurosaki’s hands are on every plain of his body. Ishida can't help but moan when his hands snake beneath his shirt and run up his sides.

Kurosaki withdraws and looks at him with clouded eyes, slightly blushing, “I didn't think you moaned, Ishida.”

He repeats the gesture and this time he bites his lips to prevent the sound from escaping. Apparently, Kurosaki likes what he sees because he pulls him down and kisses whatever he comes into contact with. Ishida can't help but make sound now. And he’s reached the point where he mewls. Wonderful.

Kurosaki removes his face a few inches and licks his lips, “Mewling too, Ishida?”

“Shut your face!” he demands and kisses him again.

He doesn't know how long they kiss but at some point Kurosaki decides that he needs to relieve them of our clothing, which doesn't come a moment too soon in Ishida’s opinion. Suddenly they’re lying on the couch in their pants and kissing and groping each other like tomorrow would never come.

“'shida!” Kurosaki hums and licks his collarbone. Ishida’s breathing’s labored and his diaphragm’s having difficulty keeping up with his lungs. His brow is sweating and Kurosaki's back is also becoming more and more slippery. Ishida can feel him through his jeans, and he’s sure he can feel him.

Kurosaki pushes his thigh in between his legs and slowly Ishida begins grinding his hips. Kurosaki raises himself up and watches him. His eyes are almost black and he looks predatory. Ishida swallows and Kurosaki takes his mouth again. This is not enough, Ishida decides.

He begins messing around with Kurosaki’s belt, trying to get the damn thing loose and after a few minutes of struggling he succeeds. In his defense, his fingers are low on blood and his brain’s occupied elsewhere. And the moment the buckle release the leather, he attacks those Goddamn buttons. They’re easily conquered and without further hesitation, the pants are sliding down Kurosaki’s thighs.

The fact that Ishida managed to do this while continuously kissing Kurosaki ought to earn him recognition of some kind.

Kurosaki seems to notice how his pants are leaving his hips and he hurriedly pushes Ishida’s off as well. Now it’s only underwear, they lie and feel each other up with renewed energy. It's almost magical to have Kurosaki this close to his body. They're panting and sweating and kissing and groping and every little piece of it is terrible, but it’s heaven none the less.

Ishida slowly sits up and once again reclaims his seat in his lap. He can feel how his dick is throbbing, how a little bit of precome is making it's way through his boxers. Ishida pushes him back and kisses his way down his stomach. He traces his muscles and licks his stomach and smiles as Kurosaki involuntarily tightens his abdomen.

He slowly removes Kurosaki’s underwear and finds his cock right in front of him. He has to admit, the thought of giving Kurosaki head’s somewhat frightening, but no pain, no gain. Therefore, with his eyes trained on Kurosaki's face that Ishida gives his dick a long, lazy lick. Kurosaki’s eyes widen and stare directly into his.

He moans as Ishida takes the head into his mouth. He’s big, Ishida knows this already, but feeling and seeing are two very different things. He lets let his tongue slide over the slit and hum around him. Kurosaki’s hands are fisting the couch as best as they can, his head is thrown back and it doesn't take long before his right hand comes to Ishida’s hair and clutches it.

It doesn't taste as bad as he thought it would. A little deeper than his skin, sweatier, muskier, but not in any way revolting. Ishida begins sucking his dick and the trembling that fare through Kurosaki’s body is a good indicator that he's close. 

Ishida moves his hand up and down the shaft while he tease and toy the head. It’s filthily sloppy with saliva.

And suddenly, Kurosaki’s groaning and comes into his mouth. It's bitter, almost as bitter as coffee, salty like the sea. He makes a face and swallows. 

Spitters are quitters and all that.

Ishida looks up and finds Kurosaki staring. He almost drags him up and kisses him hard again. Ishida’s head’s spinning. With the taste of Kurosaki still in his mouth and his tongue there to wreak havoc, Ishida squirms.

The move seems to reawaken Kurosaki's libido, teenagers are lucky that way, and soon he's hard again. He pulls away and watches Ishida with near-black eyes and a heavy breath.

“Lube?” he asks panting. 

Ishida just nods, he doesn't have any breath left for talking. He almost jumps off the couch and hurries to the bathroom, finding the little tinfoil-tube. He returns with his loot and Kurosaki, with a hungry smile and an erection to match, sits up. Ishida steps out of his underwear and places himself astride. They both simultaneously hiss and gasp as their cocks hit each other.

Ishida quickly coats his fingers in lube and moves his arm to his backside. However, Kurosaki stops him and rubs the lube off his fingers and onto his own. He fingers him and, slick with lube as it is, gently starts rubbing his ass with tentative movements. 

Ishida whines.

He breaks through the tight muscle and starts moving his finger in and out. It stings. Ishida hasn't done anything for a full week and it used to be a lot more frequent than that.

“Fuck, you’re tight!” Kurosaki swears and inserts another finger. Ishida digs his hands into his shoulders and his thighs rock back onto the fingers. They look at each other when Kurosaki starts scissoring him.

Ishida’s lost in that, so lost he only catches the tail of what Kurosaki’s sentence.

“… why I shagged you at Keigo's party. Fucking drunk, swaying your hips, teasing me.”

“Do you actually remember it?” Ishida asks, he doesn’t, that’s for sure. 

Kurosaki laughs breathlessly. “Not at all, too drunk. Remember you walking like sex on legs though.” 

Ishida can't reply to that, he doesn't even remember walking anywhere. Instead, he hoists himself up and positions above his cock. They could’ve had a staring contest then. Ishida kisses him while he lowers himself onto his dick and he moans into his mouth.

Kurosaki holds tight around his middle and presses him close.

“I'm fucking the student council president,” he declares out of nowhere.

“Have been for quite a while, Kurosaki, my nomination’s not that recent,” Ishida rolls his eyes and kisses his brow. They sit there for a while, feeling each other’s heartbeat. Kurosaki grins again and kisses his collarbone.

“But I've always wanted to tell you that,” he chuckles. As if Ishida might forget his duties. Ishida holds him tight and begins rocking his hips. He can hear Kurosaki gasp against his sternum. He grinds and grounds his hips and feels his prick go with him. He then lifts himself and promptly sits back down. They both shudder. It's intense. The time in the rain can't even compare.

“I really do like you, Ishida.”

Ishida falls back down on his cock. Kurosaki groans as he thrusts back up against him.

He leans forward and when he’s next to his ear he whispers, “And I don't hate you.”   
Kurosaki suddenly tips them over so Ishida’s on his back upon the coffee-table. And with slow, thorough thrusts he starts moving his hips. 

Kurosaki’s name leaves his lips and a possessive glimpse crosses his eyes. Ishida can hear him panting something that sounds suspiciously much like his name, Ishida’s groaning his and the coffee-table is begging them both to stop before it breaks. Ishida can hear the faint humming of the wires outside, a window is open.

Kurosaki hits his prostate again and he moans again. Kurosaki smirks and Ishida’s legs have locked themselves around his hips. 

The coffee-table’s squeaking menacingly, one leg has already been broken like this. The only thing they don't break is eye contact. As the pace quickens, as Ishida’s groans, whimpers, pleas and moans grow in intensity, as Kurosaki's own vocal chords are working hard for the sake of his name, Ishida’s desperately close to heaven. He meets his thrusts, trying to get as much friction as possible.

Ishida comes first and comes onto his own chest and stomach, making a mess right then and there. Kurosaki follows soon after. He falls back, Ishida remains where he is. Their breathing’s hard and heavy and their muscles have turned to jelly. There’s a beat between them.

Ishida wills himself to sit up, wipe his stomach down with a page of a magazine and flops over in the sofa beside Kurosaki. He puts his head on his shoulder. While their breathing evens out and the orgasm leaves them, Kurosaki guides them down on the couch. 

They lie wrapped around each other. His fingers threats through his hair and Ishida begins to drift when he hears his voice.

“Hm?” he asks, not having heard anything.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Kurosaki repeats and Ishida raises himself up on an elbow.

“I didn't think you reciprocated,” he answers, “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I only just found out. When Inoue came and asked me. I felt disappointed that it wasn't you. And I felt like we were already something. I just didn't know what,” he recounts. Then he adds, “I knew you liked me since that time we did it in the rain. I heard you chant my name.”

“Great,” Ishida mutters and hides his face in the crook of his neck.

“What would you want me to say? Hey, Ishida, I know you dig me. We gonna fuck now?”

“Maybe not,” he concedes and looks up.

“Was that why you always looked like you were ready to jump off a bridge? 'Cause you thought it was one of those unrequited love things?”

Ishida shrugs, “It's funny, isn't it?”

“Not really,” he says tiredly and slides a hand down my belly.

“Not that.”

“What then?”

“We never talked much, but suddenly we have something like a full conversation during sex.”

He huffs. It's a good thing that he can make him laugh, Ishida supposes.

“What now? Are we like, dating?” he asks and once again looks a little insecure.

“Might as well, I’ve already put out,” he smiles though and snuggles closer. Kurosaki tightens his grip around him, but he wriggles free, grabs a blanket and wriggles back again.

“Did you just wriggle?” he asks. 

“I do many stupid things.”


End file.
